It was quiet.

UA always felt quieter at night. Even when the lights buzzed and the training domes stayed on long after curfew. You had trouble sleeping lately—memories had a way of doing that, curling under your skin at the worst times.

So you walked.

Not far. Just loops. Around the main building. Past the garden Aizawa always told students not to trample. Past the classroom window that still had your doodle stuck in the corner.

You didn’t expect to see him.

But there he was.

Sitting on the steps behind the teachers’ dorms, legs stretched out, head leaned back against the wall, scarf unwound at his neck like he’d forgotten he was wearing it.

You froze.

He opened one eye.

“…Kid.”

Your heart did something strange.

It had been weeks.

“Hi,” you mumbled, walking over. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

“Didn’t think you’d be out of bed.”

You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He patted the step beside him without looking.

You sat.

He smelled like old coffee and city air and something a little like your blanket.

The silence was normal. Comfortable.

And then he said, without much fanfare:

“I heard you aced that support tech exam.”

Your eyes widened. “You… heard?”

“Midnight won’t stop bragging. Said you rewired a full gauntlet blindfolded.”

Your face burned.

“She’s exaggerating. I only had one eye covered.”

“Hm.”

Another pause.

“…I didn’t think I’d still be here,” you admitted suddenly. “After they pulled me out. I thought I’d end up… somewhere. With someone else.”

Aizawa didn’t look at you, but his voice was soft.

“I asked for you.”

You blinked.

“I told them I knew your quirk. That I’d seen what it could do when it wasn’t being used to hurt people. I told them I could help. If you wanted.”

You stared at the ground.

“I didn’t think I was easy to help.”

“You weren’t.” He paused. “You were a nightmare.”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“But you didn’t leave.”

He was quiet for a long time.

Then—

“I wanted to take you in officially.”

Your head snapped up.

“I didn’t,” he said before you could speak, “because I didn’t want to promise something I couldn’t keep. I thought you deserved more than someone who might not be here tomorrow.”

You stared at him.

He finally turned to meet your eyes.

“But I’m still here,” he said.

And he was.

You looked down, fingers curling into the hem of your sleeve.

“…I’m glad you are.”

He didn’t ruffle your hair. Didn’t hug you.

Just leaned his shoulder lightly into yours.

Like a promise.